


Man of your Dreams

by its_in_the_water



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Dreaming, Fluff, Humor, M/M, post-character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-08
Updated: 2012-07-08
Packaged: 2017-11-09 10:54:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/454664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/its_in_the_water/pseuds/its_in_the_water
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabble, exploring the idea of Anders' death and the possibility that Justice would take him into the Fade. From which he can terrorize his dreaming friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Man of your Dreams

“Help with the laundry, Leto,” his mother said. “Go with your sister and help.” 

“Do I have to?” he complained. He was taller than her now, but he still looked up at her. She seemed to tower over him, all green dress, white apron and chapped hands.

“You must,” she chided him. “It's your duty to your master to wash his laundry.”

Disgust rose in his gut and burned his throat. He held up a Tevinter robe and it dripped scarlet. It was his duty to clean it, but as he dunked it into the wash basin, he realized the water was just more blood, more gore. Faces he only dimly recalled rose up in the darkness, their eyes wide, their mouths moving, forming silent pleas and accusations. _You washed us, you washed us._ Qunari, mage, child, adult, Fog Warrior... Then Hawke, Aveline, Isabela, Merrill, Varric, Sebastian, Bethany, and, finally, Anders.

Fenris shuddered and fell back on the hard ground, staring at his stained hands. 

“Leto,” his mother called, looming like a tower to one side. “Wash the laundry.”

“Fenris,” crooned another voice, masculine and cruel. White hair and beard, a column of red and grey robes, an unstoppable will. “Wash it... Wash it all.”

The elf cried in despair, but he had no choice. He hunched forward and thrust his arms back into the morbid wash basin, up to his shoulders in gore and heads, until his face was only inches away, until he could taste the blood, the metal and magic. It started to draw him in...

Light flashed in the depths of the basin. A figure surged up and out of the liquid, shoving Fenris back. It rose from the blood; blond hair, glowing blue eyes, a black, feathered coat, the dragon-headed staff. 

“Anders?” Fenris mumbled from where he'd fallen to his knees. “Why are you in the laundry?”

“Laundry?” Anders looked around himself. He stood knee-deep in the basin, but didn't seem to see it. His luminous blue eyes blinked at the elf and he licked his lips. “Well,” he said slowly. “This is, um, quite the dream you must be having. Laundry and all.”

“Didn't I wash you already?”

The light increased. “YOU KILLED ME,” Justice said. 

Anders shook his head. “Stop that. He was just following Hawke. We blew the Chantry, we drew the line and he had to act. It was loyalty, even if it wasn't justice.”

“I AM JUSTICE.”

“Yeah, yeah.” The mage sighed, folded his arms and considered Fenris, tilting his head to one side. “Do you see what I have to put up with now? And there's no one else to talk to, really. The other spirits aren't all that interesting. They all say the same things.” His expression went deadpan. “I AM PATIENCE. STILL.” Then he made a shocked expression and covered himself. In a grating falsetto, he squeaked, “I AM CHASTITY. PUT IT BACK IN YOUR PANTS, ANDERS!”

“Fenris!” boomed Danarius, crackling through everything, making the world shake. “Wash the laundry!”

Anders flinched and gazed upward, his jaw dropping. “Oh, Andraste's adorable pinkies. **This** is what you're dreaming about?” He looked down, lifting first one boot and then another from the red liquid. “Ugh!”

“Leto!” wailed his mother.

“Fenris!” roared Danarius.

“They're worse than Justice,” Anders sighed. “Let's get out of here, elf.” He extended a hand.

Fenris stared up at the mage. “Laundry?”

“Um.” The mage shrugged. “Yeah. Okay. We'll do some laundry. But somewhere far away from these--”

“MEMORIES.”

“ **Bad** memories. Come on.”

Fenris finally nodded and slid his bloody, clawed fingers into Anders' palm. 

The mage smirked. “This is the Fade. Let's go have some--”

“JUSTICE.”

“Justice, right.” Anders rolled his eyes. “Fenris, help me out, here. You owe me for washing me.” He tugged, hard enough to pull Fenris into the tub. “We're going to go traumatize Innocence. That's always fun.”

Awareness seeped into Fenris as the warm tub water, now bubbly and lemon-scented, seeped into his pants. “I'm dreaming,” he blurted. He recoiled from the mage with the horrible realization that he was dreaming about standing in laundry with the dead apostate. “Why are you here?!”

Anders didn't let him go far. “Why, Fenris, I thought you knew.” He wrapped an arm around the slender elf and his eyes shone. “I'm the man of your dreams.”

**Author's Note:**

> This may eventually expand into a longer piece... There are so many possibilities for a dead, dream-walking Anders, from terrible angst to hilarity.


End file.
